Can't Seem to Get Out of Church! (July 21)

So it happened again -- We're in church for half the day!

That this church happened to be built a thousand years ago is beside the point. It was church. And it had much of the same effect it always should. Awe... mystery... gratitude... remembrance...

Since our pack-a-day mentality had left us with travel-to-France day (but we still haven't toured Westminster Abbey yet!), we left our short-term apartment this morning, early, and bolted for the Angel Station. From there we traveled to "Bank," noting all the coats, ties, and brief cases (is there a BoA in London!?), and transferred lines, winding up at the Westminster Station at 9:15 a.m. We waited 15 minutes in a drizzling rain and were among the first guests in the Abbey -- but it was elbow-to-elbow by the time we had our individual audio guides tuned for exploring.

There's that beautiful altar screen, gilded and ornate... the intricately carved choir ("quire") stall... Edward the Confessor's tomb -- and Mary's and Elizabeth's and about a thousand people we'd never heard of before -- before Oliver Cromwell's little niche in the floor (at every opportunity, I'm trying to put all the pieces of pilgrimage together for the boys: "Cromwell's rule [mid 1600s] was related to the Puritan dissatisfaction with The Church of England that also led to the Separatists and the Baptists and the Pilgrims (remember them, guys, from a few weeks ago in Plymouth -- "Plymouth Rock 1620"?..." [I know it's too much, but they humor me anyway!]) And then "Poet's Corner," with Chaucer and Tennyson and Hopkins and Shakespeare... and the museum, with the patient English guide who clarified all 27 of Amy's questions about who will succeed Queen Elizabeth if she ever dies and why ("...and will Camilla be 'Queen Bowles,' etc... etc... etc... etc...)... and back in the nave, there's Sir Isaac Newton and Charles Darwin -- what a likely pair -- there on the lefthand side... and Amy (hear this, people, Amy, not me this time!) lecturing the boys on Creationism and Evolution, Darwin and the Church... because at this point, I'm trying to GET OUT OF THERE!

All you need to know is that we made it. Back to Bank. Back to Angel. Back to the apartment. Back to Angel, again. Over to St. Pancras International. Onto the train. And into Paris.

But before we leave London, my favorite moment, maybe on the trip, so far.

Just beyond Poet's Corner, before Handel's tomb, is a small wooden door labeled "St. Faith's Chapel." The sign in front indicates that the room is used for quiet prayer, but the obvious lack of tourist attention tells us, perhaps not now. I inquir of a guide, though, and he gladly opens this beautiful chapel just for the 4 of us. Pausing there, where God's people have prayed for nearly a millenium, we did, too... Naming a few of our Park Road friends who are dealing with special issues this summer (and Bennett's Sunday School friends... and, yes, "Miss Wendy"), we paused for a moment of silence. And then "B" started: "Do not be afraid," and the quartet followed: "Peace Be Still!" It's just a simple little refrain I wrote, with tight harmonies for this trip, but when we ended, "Peace, Deep Peace, Be Still (Amy: Do Not Be Afraid!)," the almost perfect intonation of a G Major chord resonated in those stones... as if it had been lingering there for a thousand years. Just like it was supposed to sound.

And for a moment. As long as it took that sound to decay into those living stones. All things were right with the world. And the Deans were at peace.

If you have to travel all the way to Westminster for just such a moment -- whatever the cost -- don't pass up that potential. Such moments can hold us for a very, very long time.

Peace. Be. Still.